#i probably wasn’t supposed to spend as much time as i did on this shitpost

[junkart96]

Which norse god do you think they’re talking about?

[ktarsims]

Check In Tag!

I was tagged by @siancyaniam. Thank you!

Why did you choose your URL?

Once upon a time, a very long time ago now, I discovered role-playing in a furry community back when I had not even a concept of what ‘furry’ meant. I ran a role-playing guild there for a while, based on FFVIII, and at one point I ran a contest to name the world. My own submission was: K’tarianen - which did not win the votes. Since it wasn’t going to be used there, I’ve since used various forms of it for my online nicknames, or sometimes character names.

How long have you been on tumblr?

One of my first posts on this blog was actually the Pattern Hoarder Tutorial, which was made in Jan. 2017. So... about five and a half years now? I actually do have a personal tumblr that I almost never look at anymore, which was created at least five years before that.

Do you have a queue tag?

I do not. Nearly everything I post runs through my queue or is scheduled though.

Why did you start your blog in the first place?

I started it in order to post the Pattern Hoarder Tutorial in a place where it could be seen and would not soon disappear or be lost. Patterns used to be the only CC I actually used, and I hadn’t found a tutorial for multi-layer (or multi-color channel) patterns, so I wanted to share what I’d figured out with everyone else.

These days I consider that I ought to turn it into PDF’s so that it could be easily uploaded anywhere. Perhaps someday I’ll make time for that.

Why did you choose your icon/pfp?

My icon is a crop of a photo of my simself. Perhaps someday I’ll change it, but I’m fairly satisfied with it.

Why did you choose your header?

Uh. I don’t think I have a header.. do I? *goes to look* OH. I do. LMAO. It’s the music room of the Olijar mansion which I spent far too much time on and was extremely pleased with when I had finished. They’re supposed to be the main family in my main save, but I think so far they’ve actually had less ‘screen time’ than some of the other households.

What’s your post with the most notes?

Perhaps unsurprisingly, a tips post I made forever ago with things I find very valuable knowledge in-game.

How many mutuals do you have?

I have... not the faintest idea, honestly. I did a google search to figure out how to find that out, but met only with more confusion. 

How many followers do you have?

Looks like the current count is 880, for whatever that’s worth. As a note, I don’t really keep track, nor do I check to see if people unfollow me, nor do I spend time to try to block people who might be inactive, bots, etc.

How many people do you follow?

458 currently. I feel like this number used to be higher, but probably some blogs were lost to Tumblr’s shenanigans, and some people deleted their blogs. I follow almost exclusively blogs who post TS3 content, as it’s the only game in the series I’ve yet played, but I do follow a few TS2 blogs. I’m also pretty picky in that I require posts to be properly tagged, for there not to be too many of them all the time, and usually for there to not be too many CC reblogs. I follow most creators directly, and a few CCfinds blogs in case I miss things, and don’t like to constantly see the same thing over and over again on my dash. Which I actually do keep up with most of the time.

Have you ever made a shitpost?

Uh. I think someone would have to define for me what a shitpost is before I could answer this question. xD I have heard the term a lot, but don’t actually know what it means, precisely. (When you use sarcasm to call something out?)

How often do you use tumblr every day?

Typically, every day. Though some days get skipped if I am too busy. And a few times, several months were skipped due to life taking over.

Did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? who won?

I try to keep any disagreements I might have with other members of the sims 3 fandom on tumblr to private disagreements. Publicly posted arguments tend to blow up far too quickly and can result in unwanted consequences.

How do you feel about ‘you need to reblog this’ posts?

Emotional manipulation has long been a tactic to get people to spread things they’d otherwise ignore. It doesn’t really work on me. I’ll reblog it if I feel the message is worth sharing, and appropriate to my blog, or important enough to be shared here regardless of what it’s about.

Do you like tag games?

I think tag games are kinda fun, I just rarely find the time to participate in them. ^-^;;

Do you like ask memes?

Since most of my gameplay is strictly gameplay without any well defined stories to accompany them, I usually don’t have much to say for ask memes. Sometimes they’re fun! Sometimes I just have no clue what I’d say.

Which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

Since, to my surprise, a lot of the creators I follow actually also follow me, I’d say there’s quite a few, so I won’t bother name-dropping.

Do you have a crush on a mutual?

I’m long past the age of crushes. xD They’re also very rare for me.

Ill tag: @murfeelee @simlicious @simsmono

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Damijon Secret Santa

@woahjaybird happy holidays ris!!!!!!!!!! i admit, i was a bit confused, bc you signed up for a ship fic exchange and requested platonic bros, but whatever. i hope you like it!

To be honest, it was something Damian said a lot. 

Jon heard those words practically every time Damian opened his mouth: in the middle of a mission, when they were baking pies with Ma Kent, during a stakeout, on a rooftop eating takeout. 

They used to be annoying. God, sometimes Jon just wanted to drop his restraint and punch Damian in the face, full-force. Especially when he said those words, again and again and again. Over time, though, Jon grew used to them, and after a while, they just began to amused him.

You should be afraid of me.

Because Jon never understood those words. What was there to be scared of?

The two of them were sitting on a rooftop in Metropolis, Jon with his long legs dangling over the side of the building, Damian cross-legged next to him. Taking a long slurp of his smoothie, Jon glanced over at Damian, who was outlining their plan of attack for tomorrow-- a mission to take down an arms dealer who had been working out of Metropolis for months. With Dad stretched thin over League, international, and intergalactic affairs, criminals were becoming a little less hesitant to step foot into the city. Superboy and Robin would be taking care of that soon.

Jon was listening, he really was. The battle plans were definitely lodging themselves somewhere in Jon’s subconsciousness. But he had to admit, most of his attention was fixed firmly on Damian himself.

Jon remembered the days the prickly young boy would throw his nose up haughtily in the air, state he’d been intelligent enough to have a doctorate at seven years old, and miff at anyone who insinuated otherwise. It was a far sight from when Damian had  curled himself up on Jon’s bed, and under the guise of watching a movie, told Jon about his acceptance into the most prestigious art schools in Gotham. 

And that was the reason behind Jon’s inattention, wasn’t it? Damian was eighteen, now. Their age difference didn’t seem like much when they were ten and thirteen and going against the world with all the confidence of a couple boys playing pretend. Now, Damian had a weariness in his shoulders, but lips that quirked up into a smile far too often, skin layered in scars but hands gentler than Jon ever thought he was capable of. Jon himself was a fumbling, awkward fifteen year old with jeans that were always too short, hair that was always too messy. And Jon used to think he was over feeling inferior to his best friend.

He’d miss him. Jon would miss Damian so much. Sure, Damian would probably try and keep their visits somewhat consistent, but work would pile up, and a curator would probably see Damian’s talents and whisk him away to the world of the famous artists, and Damian would forget he ever had a friend named Jon and would go on to become a household name while Jon spent the rest of his life living in his parents’ house and updating his mediocre blog that he started because of a dare.

No, he wasn’t being dramatic, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, Damian seemed to catch onto his lack of attention and snapped his fingers underneath Jon’s nose, startling him back to focus.

Never one to sugarcoat, Damian said, “You look miserable.”

“What? No, I’m fine!” Jon didn’t know why he even tried to play it off, he’d never been able to lie to Damian.

“Right. My mistake. Someone who was fine would definitely spend the past hour drinking out of a smoothie cup that’s already empty.”

Huh. Jon hadn’t even realized he’d finished the drink. He put it to the side and shook his head. “Really, it’s not a pro-oblem.” Oh, goddamnit.

“Your voice cracks are ridiculous,” Damian informed him. Why had Jon ever thought he’d changed? That smug voice was as irritating as ever.

“Yeah, they’re hilarious, thanks.”

“I don’t understand why you’re upset.” Apparently, this matter was serious enough for Damian to put his map down. Wasn’t that comforting?

But Jon had never liked to keep things from his best friend. “That. That’s what’s bothering me.”

“Your voice cracks?” Now Damian just sounded confused.

“Yes! No, I don’t know. I just don’t like them.” Jon crossed his arms in frustration.

When he looked over at Damian, the other boy’s eyes were wide, and in that stupidly deep and non-cracking voice, he said, “This conversation has gone well past the point of understanding and I’m going to continue with the plan now.”

Jon sighed. “No, Damian, it’s not that.”

“Then?”

Searching for the right words, Jon drummed his fingers together. “You...you’re going off to that fancy art school soon. You’re all grown up. And here I am with my stupid video games and voice cracks.”

Jon wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting. Damian could never be called a master of social interaction, and his basic settings were sarcastic, condescending, or incredulous. Still, Jon expected something a bit kinder than:

“You’re such a moron, Jonathan.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Jon stared at Damian for a moment, blinking stupidly. “So I tell you about the problem that’s been eating me up for weeks, and all you say is that I’m a moron? Thank you so much for that.”

“I’m telling you you’re a moron because you’re worrying about something so inconsequential.”

“Oh please, do elaborate.”

Damian paused, then let out a tired sigh, turning to face Jon. This was going to be a serious conversation, then.

“Jonathan. I have told you time and time again. You should be scared of me-”

“Oh my god,” Jon interrupted. “This stuff, again?” He was laughing now. “I know, I know. You should be horrified, cower in terror underneath my ruthlessness, blah blah blah. You say it all the time, I get it. I should be scared of you.”

Damian stared at him. “Are you done?” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m tired of you bringing up the same thing over and over, Damian.”

“And in saying that, you just proved my point.”

Jon frowned in confusion. “What?”

“I’ve always said that you should be afraid of me. But you never have been, not since the moment we met.”

“Like there’s anything to be scared of.”

“Yes, Jonathan. There is.” Damian looked Jon in the eye, his gaze sharp and serious.

Damian’s honesty was strange, something Jon wasn’t used to, so he tried to play it off with a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, assassin training’s tough-”

“When I was six years old, I murdered a man in front of his daughter.”

Jon fell silent.

“I used to command an entire legion in my grandfather’s army. We completely destroyed and took down three different countries.”

“Damian, I-” 

“Once, Grandfather put me in a straightjacket and wrapped me in chains, surrounded by trained guards, with no instruction other than to escape. And I did.”

Hesitantly, Jon said, “I never knew.”

“Because I never told you. That, and so much more, is why everybody I ever know has been scared of me.”

“Even Nightwing?”

“Nightwing grew out of it eventually,” Damian admitted. “But everyone else. The rest of the bats. Father. Even Mother. There’s fear in their eyes when they look at me.”

“Oh. Uh,” Jon shrugged. “That sucks.”

“That sucks?” Damian said, dry but amused.

“I didn’t know what else to say!” Jon defended.

“See? That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

Jon furrowed his eyebrows. “You’ve been trying to tell me it sucks? Because I already knew it sucks.”

“Jonathan…” Damian trailed off, then grabbed Jon’s wrists with his own hands.

“Hey!” Jon protested, though only out of surprise. Because Damain’s hands were warm and his thumb was pressing down on Jon’s pulse point and Jon could honestly say he had no objection to this.

Damian’s face showed nothing but piercing intensity: brows furred and eyes locked on Jon’s own. “Jon. Look me in the eyes, and tell me you’re scared of me.”

“But I’m not?”

“I just told you things that would have grown men running away from me in terror. Tell me at least some of that scares you.”

“No,” Jon shook his head and gripped the other’s boy’s wrists back. “No. I’m not scared of you.”

Letting out a breath, Damian moved away. For a moment, Jon found himself chasing that warmth.

“You are the only person who’s ever thought that.” Damian turned, shifting to mirror Jon’s position. Staring out over the city, a billboard washed colours over Damian’s face. He looked like a work of art, and Jon had no idea how anybody could ever fear him.

“You’re my best friend, Damian.” Jon shrugged, despite the fact that Damian couldn’t see him. “I’ve seen you scream at a machine for losing at Cheese Viking. I’ve seen you befriend a little squirrel you found on Ma’s farm. So how exactly am I supposed to be afraid of you?”

Damian nodded, as if that solidified something. “If you really think that I would leave the only person that isn’t scared of me, if you think that I would stop being friends with someone who has always thought of me as a human first and a weapon second just because I’m going to a university, then you are the biggest moron to ever walk the face of the earth.”

Stunned, Jon moved to sit next to Damian. “Oh.”

Jon had always been aware of their height difference, made plenty of jokes about it, but it really struck him how much smaller Damian was when the older boy turned to look up and smile at him. “So stop worrying, okay Kent? It’s unbecoming.”

“Whatever you say,” Jon acquiesced. 

Damian wasn’t leaving for good. Damian, with his burning green eyes and molten beauty, still wanted to be friends with him. 

With a smile on his face, Jon turned to look out at the city, letting the quiet wash over him. At his side, Damian did the same. A huge thank you to @iamwhelmed for organizing the secret santa this year!!

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @elles-shitposts-personified @subtleappreciation  @screennamealreadyused @pricetagofficial @catxsnow  @iconbicon

[zipp0flare]

I don’t know how to describe my mental state or mental scape. It’s a tangled mess of thoughts, worries, and things I’d rather forget. I always imagine it as a darkened room, the only light coming from a hardly cracked open door, one that barely opens much anymore nowadays. The main focus that I always see, though, is a corner filled with crumpled pieces of paper and aluminum foil. The foil being emotions that I can’t let out and have to keep bottled up, the paper thoughts that I’d rather not focus on, rather not let them take me over. Thoughts that I’d rather keep hidden away in that corner.

I grew up in a small town and was rather sheltered. I always had a hand on my shoulder that directed me on how to do things, and shielded me when I was having trouble. In fifth grade, that hand faded slightly, anxiety took over, and complications arose. In fifth grade, I slowly learned to not show the world what my thought process was or how things were affecting me. At ten years old, the aluminum foil began to appear.

The hand came back, recovered, and we moved on with life. I still crumpled foil and paper though, still repressed things that I couldn’t/wasn’t able to deal with at the time. Either because I didn’t know how to process it, or because it just wasn’t the time to do so. 

Time passed and the hand continued to guide me and shield me. And I relied on that hand. Relied on that hand a little too much, because the hand was always willing to take over for me, answer questions. Helicopter in a way. 

When I was 24, the hand began to fade again. Complications arose. We had hope. My dad knew better though. He stayed silent, while my sister and I tried to work things out. He saw what would come. 

At 25, things became worse. She could barely move. She was in and out of the hospital until October, where she stayed in the hospital. My father didn’t say much. We visited. My sister found out what was going on and immediately flew back home in November and stayed with us for the next few months.

December of 2018. Four days after Christmas. Everything fell apart. Further complications happened and my sister and I met my father at the hospital. Decisions were made. And I watched as my hand, my guide, was taken off life support. Minutes passed, feeling like hours. I watched her struggle to breathe. I watched and waited, hoping it would end soon, please, for the love of god let it stop, let this last gasp be the final one. I wish they had kept the heart monitor hooked up. The memory of that beep would have probably kept me up at night, but at the time I didn’t care. It would have cut down on the guessing, the waiting. That beep would have let me know that that final breath WAS the final breath, and wouldn’t have left me standing there and hoping another didn’t come. I’ve only told one other person this story. Anyone else who knows what actually happened only knows because they were in that room when it happened. 

I went to Facebook. And let those who were my friends know what happened. It. Was. A. Mistake. Immediately people rushed to try and take the pieces that I had become, flying from left and right and offering, offering, offering to put me back together. I didn’t have many friends growing up. And this many people coming to me and thinking they could take the broken pieces and push me back together was too much. 

I disappeared from social media. All that time I spend on Facebook shitposting was gone. Every so often I’d try to come back. Only for people to come rushing again and unintentionally driving me away. I don’t know how to open up to others. I don’t know how to tell people what’s going on with me. I don’t know how to tell them that I just don’t have the emotional or mental energy anymore. 

Monotony is the mind killer, and escapism is one hell of a drug. Both put together is a disaster waiting to happen.

I tried to bond with the other hand in my life, the one I usually shied away from because of differing ideas. But I didn’t want to push this hand away. So I forced together two puzzle pieces that have similar edges but aren’t MEANT to be shoved together. And I held them together with silence and passive behaviors. Hoping that this one wouldn’t see past the cracks, past the glue, and see how much these pieces AREN’T supposed to be forced together that way. Because I’d rather have a fucky puzzle than a completely unfinished one. I’d rather have one less person trying to put pieces back.

I made the mistake of saying that I don’t know how to talk to others. He asked me that evening if I didn’t feel like I could talk to him. I lied through my teeth and just said that I don’t really have anything to talk about. Because that’s how the papers work. I crumble them until the words are unintelligible anymore and I don’t know how to speak them outloud. And the papers that aren’t fully crumpled, are still able to be somewhat legible, I refuse to speak the words on them. Because then I would be seen different. If I was even looked at at all anymore at that point.

I continue to make papers and aluminum foil. Because that’s all I know how to do anymore. I don’t know how to show others what’s on that paper. I don’t know how to let others try to put pieces back together the right way. I never liked asking for help in the past, always would rather work by myself than in a group. And so many people flooding to me in some rush to help was just too much. It’s still too much. 

A lot of the time I don’t have the mental energy to do much, other than to go through the motions. Because the motions are comfortable. They’re reassuring. They don’t change and cause issues. The motions are dangerous. 

They cause me to get TOO caught up in them and keep my mental energy down. I don’t speak to much of anyone now. Probably a trait that’s slowly sunk in from the other puzzle piece. And I hate it. 

The reason I don’t reach out to others or get back to others is because I’m still too overwhelmed. I’m still too drawn into the comfort of the monotony and the motions. I still think of them. I still think of you. But I don’t know how to talk anymore. Not full on like I used to. And as more time passes, even if I grow comfortable again, I’m afraid to reach back out. Because too much time has passed. And I know it’ll only get worse if I continue, like a healing wound that I just SCRATCH at instead of putting a bandage over it and moving on with taking care of it. But I can’t stop scratching it. Because I’m afraid of what would happen if I did stop. If I did reach out after so long of silence.

I’m not trying to make excuses. I’m trying to explain what’s going on with my head and why I grow silent sometimes. It’s not because I don’t want anything to do with you. It’s NOTHING like that. Sometimes I’m just took drawn into that dark corner, buried underneath paper and tin foil. I’m hoping to be better one day. I”m hoping that a time will come where I can speak out about how I feel, about what’s going on with me. Hoping that I can openly say what’s on my mind without hiding behind a screen and anonymity. 

Until then. I’m sorry. 

Please don’t stop trying to reach out. I still think of you and everyone else. But I just don’t have the mental energy to respond most times. Some days are better than others, but the wound of ‘what if’ and shame keeps me away most times. 

I don’t know how to describe my mental state or mental scape. Other than it’s fucky, and dark, and wishes me to fall into easy comforts if only for a bit of peace. 

[wizisbored]

What are some of your favorite lines you've written for your fics? (Also I'm sorry things aren't going well right now. Sending love 💜)

right its time to go diggin im using this as an excuse to reread everything because i cant think of any lines off the top of my head even though i know theres a shitton

premptively putting a cut here because this will probably end up long as shit and you know what fuck yea to that because fuck yea to being proud of what youve made

SO

hallelujah, first thing i posted:

If those bastards want to make her part of their shitty musical, then she’s going to make it difficult. Or at least inconvenient.

The hive is not inconvenienced in the slightest.’

- idk if this is as funny as i think it is but i find it funny

"Nobody dies with dignity, Emma. There's no honour in the thing, however you dress it up."

- wrote that to sound creepy and now i cant decide whether i actually think its true

But he’s holding her like she’s his salvation, as if it’s his life hanging in the balance.

- salvation is just a good word tbh

It’s hopeless, but she refuses to be killed by a game of fucking ‘got your nose’.

purgatory, intended to be a shitpost but now i unironically think of it as the best thing ive ever written

After a few years (or maybe seconds, it’s not clear) / it takes a moment (or maybe it doesn’t, who knows?) / An undocumentable amount of time passes. /  They might have slipped into an uneasy silence lasting millenia - or milliseconds - if it wasn’t for the jolly tune that suddenly fills the air. / for minutes or years or millenia or maybe even eons / After a brief, indescribably long nap / But the incomprehensible amount of time seems somehow shorter this time.

- 2 in one of fucking with the concept of time and hinting at an unreliable narrator, hell yea. its about the weird atmosphere, baybeeeee

“Does one day of trying the hardest we could outweigh years of not trying at all?” Emma wonders aloud. Paul squeezes her hand.

“I damn hope so.”

He doesn’t ask if she believes in Hell.

- even without context i like this line but in context it really helped set the sombre tone so i could do a full 180 at the end of the chapter

Emma wonders whether they’ve been sent to musical hell for failing to stop the musical apocalypse

- love the implication that there is a hell dedicated to annoying people via musical theatre

“You said- you told her you’d never be in a musical?”

“Yes.”

“And then you died performing a musical number?”

“I- yeah, I did.”

“Brilliant! Now, that is stupid!”

- probably my best characterisation of death, sounds like something that would be said in a stupid deaths bit, i can hear it in his voice

teachers pet

“It’s only blatant if people know about it. So in actual fact this is secret favouritism.”

- hidgens gives absolutely 0 shits about the ethics of the situation good for him

“And if that is kidnapping, well, consider yourself kidnapped.”

- once again ethics simply do not matter

“Oh, where is your sense of adventure? Are you not curious about the results of washing baked beans?”

- this line hants me when im trying to make stew or just have some fucking beans on toast because I am curious about the results of washing baked beans

“Well, if it isn’t, and we both die, then I’ll be quite disappointed. We did spend all evening on this, after all.”

- priorities

finishing what we started, actually originally a scrapped ending idea for igtlt that i liked too much to abandon entirely

“How many bullets?” He eventually asks.

“Enough.”

- they just know what theyve got to do

Only thing left to say is a big ol’ fuck you to… God, everyone else in the fucking world. Oh, and God. Fuck you God, you prick.

- gotta love them tto refs

wildfire, almost 20,000 words of angst that im going to read through because fuck it why not

She doesn't understand the order, at least not yet; a dog doesn't understand the first time she's called to heel. But that can change. Though, from the bared teeth of this dog, the trader guesses it may take a while.

- this is actually something i really like doing in narration, calling a character something in dialogue or comparison and then directly calling them it in the narration

He understands; she doesn't want to show weakness to someone who could exploit her, doesn't want to show gratitude to someone she hates. But the tribeswoman is tired and scared and hurt, and it's obvious. She's broken, at least for today.

The loneliness, however, refuses to wane. It settles in her chest like a physical need, a craving for closeness.

- got inspiration for this description by thinking about hugging my partner while i was stuck in lockdown

"You can say that again," the older woman mutters, shaking her head. "God-fuckin'-damnit, Lauren, why d'you never think about the implications?"

Jemilla turns to her with a questioning look. "Who's Lauren?"

"She-" Molag begins to explain, then pauses. She thinks for a moment, then shakes her head. "I don't even know."

- crossover jokes hell yea

He’s tolerable, she’s decided, at least relatively so, but not trustworthy. If she could truly trust him then he wouldn’t be involved in all this. If she could trust him, she wouldn’t know him.

The thinly-veiled threat in his grin

She stares up at the man, shaking, whimpering, pleading. Wordlessly begging for him to stop.

- gotta love reaching the breaking point

She probably looks insane, bruised and bloody and laughing quietly to herself in a cage. She doesn’t care. They can think she’s insane, just as long as they don’t think they broke her.

laughing as they rediscover half-forgotten days spent as children let loose in a world that seemed so huge and yet so small at the same time

“You know, kids like Zazzalil - scrawny little things born as Autumn died - they’re not supposed to see Spring.”

- i will see any character without a detailed fleshed-out backstory and say ‘is anyone going to make headcannons about that’ and then not wait for an answer

Maybe the pain will shock her out of her head.

im going to live twice

It feels more like a bag of broken crockery than a human.

- this was the only time ive ever had to describe something really gory and decided to make it as uncomfy as possible

she notices with a concerning level of non-concern

Paul Matthews is gone, boy. And if I catch you using a dead man’s name again, well.

- its about the ✨forced disconnect✨

It stares at him, and for a moment he sees the young man that Benny used to be, silently pleading for the agent to tell him he'll be okay.

"In my defence, that was the Colonel's idea.” The man raises his hands in surrender. “I wanted to call you Lauren. I was outvoted.”

- i will take literally any chance to make a 4th wall joke and that is a threat

“I’ll see what can be done,” he assures it, knowing full well that nothing will be.

- xander doesnt flat out abuse emma in the way mcnamara and shaffer do but hes still cruel in subtler ways

“No chance of being hurt?”

Xander nods. “No chance of you being hurt.”

-  ✨foreshadowing ✨

If only he was free, free to just get up and go find Blue and tell her - actually tell her, out loud, with words - that she’s going to be okay. If only he could say that and have it be the truth.

She holds onto that piano. Right now, as she kneels crying into the tabletop, it's all she has.

- ‘sir thats my emotional support near-complete stranger’

smoke and feathers

Irony can be a cruel, twisted bitch.

- probably the best opener ive written

There’s a sort of pathetic irony in the fact that she slipped on a stone while wading across a shallow stream and broke her neck.

The stars move across the sky, and she still doesn’t know why.

- sounds poetic and all while also being a fuck you to the chorn twist because i hate it

It seems like every time she looks away the moon goes from waxing to waning and back again, time marching onwards in one unending night, swallowing one unending forest.

Even with her limited view of the person’s face, Zazzalil can see the softness in their expression. She’s hit with a pang of longing for Jemilla.

They share those tender looks that make Zazzalil long for home.

The kind of silence only shared between people who can appreciate the simplicity of each other’s presence

aaand thats pretty much all of em. i know when you said ‘some’ you probably meant less than this but i will give a consice answer to a question when pigs fly. i was going to do the double e au too but its past 1 am now and im going to bed. thanks for this ask because whether intentionally or not you just made me read 48,860 words of fic and thats a damn good distraction when things are getting a bit shitty :)

[ramblinganthropologist]

Writober 2020 - 20 (Grey)

Summary: An armor test brings up a lot of unanswered questions among the Warden crew... like why the fuck were they called Grey Wardens anyway? Seriously, does anyone know?

(That Dragon Age Actor AU, Dragon Age Origins)

---

“Does this armor make me look more intimidating?”

“You're playing an 18 year old hunter's apprentice. Nothing could do that.”

Nothing like new costumes to bring out the excitement for filming the next season. After weeks of waiting, it was finally time for the four actors known as the Warden crew to try on the armor they would be wearing during the season finale. Today was just a preview – final adjustments would be made after.

Merin pouted a little as he adjusted one of his leggings. “Eli, don't be a dick.”

“That's my job, for I am the bearer of dicks.” Eli crossed his muscled arms over his chest. Since it was just an outfit try on, he had both eyes functioning. Once they had to do it for real, the makeup and contacts would be in to simulate his character's ocular issues. “Though, maybe with the tattoos it would work. You're going to lose some points once they cover Elgar'nan up.”

That only made the elf groan harder as he sat back down. At the moment, his tattoos were on full display, covering half the side of his face in dark blue. They would be covered up the moment he became Cahel again, however. Unlucky for him, the famed apprentice didn't match vallaslin with him. He wasn't Shianni.

“Damn it all, we need to speed it up to Awakening or something.” Merin sighed as he ran a hand through his hair – his undercut was starting to grow in since he was wearing a wig so much. “Remi, you almost done in there or what? We wanna see!”

His question was directed to the curtain they were standing in front of. Their costar had disappeared behind there a few moments prior, citing issues with his breastplate. Judging from how much he was grumbling, he was still having that issue.

No surprises there – idols weren't typically known for being able to get armor on.

“Just...” he started muttering to himself in Orlesian. “There! I got the strap right!”

The curtain parted as he stepped out. Like Eli, Remi had a copy of Warden warrior armor on. It was only fitting, given he was supposed to be playing the future king of Ferelden in his Warden days. The effect was somewhat spoiled due to the fact he was using his actual accent, but he could handle that when it was time to film.

He was pretty good at hiding it. So was the guy who played Loghain...

“Not bad, you make the heavy armor work.” Merin frowned as he stared at the griffin on his costar's breastplate. “Though... serious question. Why the fuck are they the Grey Wardens when they wore silver and blue?”

The question caused both Remi and Eli to look down at their armor and pause. A glance passed among the three men in the room, none of them able give a proper answer. It was one of those things people just... accepted.

But yeah, they didn't really wear grey. What was up with that?

“It's because your skin turns grey before you off yourself in the Deep Roads.”

Their final costar entered on that killer line. Shianni, like Merin, was dressed in rogue armor. Unlike him, she made it look damn good. He cursed that a little as she took Eli's chair, perching on it like some rare bird of prey. Her reaction time was just as good too – he had seen it first hand when they had been in Orzammar.

People were still making gif sets of their group fight. It was kinda endearing.

Merin shook his head at this answer, though. “Nah. That's way too on the nose for these guys. You know they hid the taint thing until it was killing them.”

“Hiding the answer in plain sight is pretty Grey Warden if you ask me.” Shianni sounded almost bored. “Why, what's your bright idea?”

To this, the elf shrugged. “I figured it was a linguistic thing. You know how words change over time. Maybe silver meant grey then or something.”

Truthfully, even he could see that answer fell flat. However, Eli and Remi were quick to remind him of that as they both shook their heads. So, that was another idea shot down by the peanut gallery. Two were still in play, however.

Though... he could tell it was about to get stupid in here.

Remi tapped a gloved finger to his cheek as he thought about it. “Aren't griffin feathers kind of greyish? Maybe it was supposed to represent them.”

“Griffins come in a shit ton of colors, it's only the babies that are all grey and fuzzy.” Merin, ever the ranger, shot that one down pretty quickly. “It's the down.”

Eli rolled his eyes at this. “Only you would know that, Lavellan.”

“Hey, excuse me for doing some research, Rodriguez.”

There was no barb to their words, of course. By now, Eli and Merin were something like friends. It was a natural consequence of having to spend so much time with each other, though it helped the older elf had finally let the stick up his ass go. So he was a necromancer – big deal. It was the digital age, after all. Nobody really minded.

Nobody except them when it was time to tease him on it, mind you. After all, they were only sentient.

Remi knew when he was beat at least. He nodded at the information. “Right... I doubt they'd name them after baby griffins. It's not exactly intimidating.”

“They probably picked the name because they all had hard ons for grey morality.” Eli rolled his eyes. “I mean, that whole take who they want no matter what, get the job done even as your rotting in place, no lands or master thing just screams it.”

Shianni snorted at this response. “It be less impressive if you weren't saying that dressed as the berserker.”

Yeah... the whole conversation was just punctuated by the fact they were all standing around in prop armor discussing the history of a name. This was the kind of thing shitposters on the internet did when they were bored. So... maybe they had more in common with their fans than they thought.

Eli's cheeks turned hot at this as he turned away, pulling off a pretty decent impression of his character as he did so. “Who says Miris wasn't a man of philosophy?”

“Uh, he did. A lot. It's in the journals, check page 30, 56, 120...” Merin started counting off his fingers, smirking a little. “I can keep going.”

“Nobody likes a smart ass, Lavellan.” He paused. “Yeah, except Remi I know. You don't need to remind me.”

That just got him a tongue stuck out from the would-be ranger and his boyfriend. He returned it in kind, which meant civil conversation was definitely lost for the moment. Thankfully, before the battle of the tongues could continue, someone stuck their head in.

“Why do the Wardens have their tongues out?” Kaaras was practicing his Sten inflection, probably because he was in costume as well. The rest of him soon entered the room, coming to rest next to his on-screen girlfriend. Off screen, she was gay and he was a father of two. They played it well, though – they had won a few chemistry awards.

Merin pulled his tongue back in before Eli got the chance, though that was mostly because he needed to use it. “Because Eli is being an edge lord.”

“Hey, you're the one who asked the question in the first place.” Eli turned to the new occupant. “How about it, Kaaras. Why do you think the Grey Wardens are called that?”

All eyes turned to the qunari as he stopped to think about it. He tapped his chin a few times, deep in thought as he mused on the subject. Given he was dressed for war, it was a pretty hilarious sight. However, they wanted the answer more than they needed the laugh. So they waited, pins and needles jabbing into them.

He finally shrugged. “Because the Wardens have a thing for qunari I suppose.”

His response was met with a mixture of groans and snickers. That seemed to be what he had wanted in the first place, because he flashed them a very out-of-character thumbs up that shouldn't have been possible with his gloves. Someone in costuming was really earning their paycheck, no doubt about that.

“Should've seen that one coming a mile away.” Shianni shook her head. “Who knows, maybe it was the first Warden's favorite color. For all we know, they had a lover with grey eyes and the name stuck.”

Merin nodded at this, beaming suddenly. “Sounds gay, I'm down.”

That got Eli chuckling, though it was somewhat exasperated. “You're always down when it comes to gay subtext.”

“Hey,  I was in fandom for how long? Gay subtext is my bread and butter.”

Nobody could argue with that fact. Still, it was clear by that point that it could have been any of their suggestions, or a thousand other ones they didn't have the time to think of. The true answer was probably lost to time, as was many things about the Dragon Age and what came before that.

So... maybe they were all right. Or wrong. Who knew?

Kaaras shook his head as he glanced around the room at the assembled fake Wardens. “Anyway, they wanted you guys out to see how the armor fit. Hurry up and get going or you're going to keep Herah here for ages on makeup once that's done.”

Right... they were supposed to be working. Sometimes it was easy to forget that. The Warden crew nodded as they left, ready to handle whatever came next. With any luck, they wouldn't be seeing the head of makeup that day. It was kind of late for that.

Still...  why were they called Grey Wardens anyway? That was going to bother them for a while. Damn it all...

[closecry]

The Back-up Plan (Pagan Min x Reader)

Word Count: 2,223. Rated T for light cursing. Cross posted to my AO3, MadQueen. Based off a recent shitpost I made.

It's 2018. Late 2018… Maybe. Probably. These days, it was hard to pinpoint what day it was exactly. You were on an island Pagan had purchased for his retirement from being the King of Kyrat. What with the constant sunshine and nice weather, it was hard to tell exactly what time of year it was.

Pagan had a calendar in the villa that he used to keep track of time (It went to the year 3000. Which you thought was ridiculous.). It wasn't needed, because while you were on an island in the middle of the ocean, it wasn't without the "necessities".

There were solar panels that were used to power the house, there were satellites that adorned the roof of the villa that could pick up stations halfway across the world, 4 swimming pools, a tennis and basketball court, and of course, Internet Access. Pagan couldn't live without access to Netflix, Prime, HBO GO, Hulu-... all of the subscription services. He had all of them.

Most days for Pagan are spent at the villa, enjoying one of the many activities he could while there.

As it stands, though, you were sitting on the edge of the sand at your favorite beach on the island. It had nice tide pools you enjoyed exploring when the option is made available to you. You were enjoying rereading one of your favorite books, one that Pagan had first introduced you to.

Today, you had been able to convince Pagan to come out with you, and while he was in the shade far away from the ocean's side… he was there. A nice steady presence behind you. He had a radio sitting beside him blaring music in order to be heard over the raging sound of the crashing waves.

The water laps up to your ankles and startles you from your book you had been engrossed in.

You had been sitting on the edge for hours, and the tide apparently had time to rise up to meet you. To be be fair, it was a good book. And Pagan's choice of music had really lulled you into a sense of bliss that left you ignorance of the passage of time.

You sigh, and lean back, your book now momentarily forgotten as you instead focused on the radio behind you and the waves crashing in front of you. It was playing ABBA, one of Pagan's favorite artists. You're not surprised about that, if you're being honest. He adored most music in the same sort of genre, the over the top ballads and upbeat songs being his go to jams. You suppose it did fit his drama queen personality, though.

You lay down against the sand, and your head lulls back in order to focus on getting a good look of Pagan from behind you in the shade tree that he often frequented these days.

For a man that bought a tropical island to spend his retirement on, he didn't really enjoy exploring the edges of the island, or the ruins of the former village, or the small mountain tops that littered the island, or even swimming.

No, he much more enjoyed sitting down in the shade reading through Vogue, a magazine he specifically had shipped to the island monthly. When he didn't have a new copy to peruse he often would pick up a book, but for now, being at the beginning of the month it was, it was time for his magazine.

Pagan had let his guard down on the island, no longer fearful of assassins around the corner, or an uprising in the shadows. He was just allowed to be himself.

The only other people on this island were a few farmers, chefs, repairmen, and cleaners who kept the island's villa and guesthouse up and running… and well, Gary. (You weren't sure Gary's exact job title, he just kind of did whatever Pagan wanted him to. He was deeply devoted to the former king.) There were shipments of whatever exotic item Pagan were craving, but for the most part you were incredibly self reliant.

You didn't have a care in the world on the island, it was bliss. While it was humid, you, unlike Pagan, enjoyed the island for what it was. You explored, and swam, and even had your own little garden by the house… Perhaps that's why he had picked the island, if he didn't himself enjoy the activities?

Pagan was still Pagan, though, somehow always able to tell when eyes were on him from years of being on the run. It was like he had a sixth sense for the thing. So, after a moment, his magazine slides down and he meets your eyes with a questioning look.

You're confident that if It weren't for the deafening noise of the ocean and ABBA drowning out any possible noise that he could make, he would perhaps teasingly ask what you were doing watching him, but as it stands he simply smirks, motions for you to take up the space beside him, and slides the magazine back up after a moment.

There was an empty seat beside him, across from the table where the radio sat. It was an over the top lawn chair, incredibly expensive and adorned in exotic metals in the frame with your name embroidered into the fabric covering the cushions. A set of seats fit for a king and his spouse.

You let out a chuckle at his overconfidence, knowing that he was now waiting for you to join him, but sure enough, after a few seconds you do stand up and make your way over. You couldn't deny, his company did sound preferable to the crashing waves and small sea creatures that had washed up on shore.

You wipe as much of the sand off your body as you can while you walk, and when you end up in front of Pagan you're left with two choices. As it stands, you could easily take the chair beside him, the one that he was motioning for you to take, but the area between his legs looks too tempting for you not to at the very least try.

It wasn't often he denied you anything you wanted, so you're fairly certain he won't push you away if you attempt to share the seat.

You lean down, sitting down at the space between his legs. When Pagan realizes what you're doing, the magazine slides up slightly to make room when you start to slide between his spread legs. You gently lay your back against his stomach and your head against the lower part of his chest. Your arms fall against his thighs where they surround you, essentially making makeshift arm rests.

You half expect him to simply move the magazine up to your head and use it as a sort of stand, as he has done before when you've interrupted his reading by doing similar feats. He especially did it when you were back on Kyrat, where his task had to do more with life and death rather than whatever Vogue was featuring this month. He throws the magazine to the side table, and tangles a hand into your hair, beginning to stroke the strands.

You push gently up into his hand, nuzzling back into his chest with a satisfied smile. Now this, this, was nice. Pagan normally only gave intimacy when it was first initiated, he rarely reached out. He was normally a reserved person, and before you had moved to the island he enjoyed showing his affection in other ways. Mostly monetarily, but his kind words did also hold a sort of reverence for only you.

Pagan can't help teasing you though, always finding a way to do so when at all possible. As it was, with you pushing back into his hand with contentedness, it wasn't hard for him to find something to point out. "Needy." He breathed, but the word was spoken with such fondness that he carried with him in nearly every breath.

He would never readily admit it, but you knew he liked it when he felt needed. Wanted. Before, when he was king, he had hundreds of people constantly reaffirming him. You tried to fill in where you could, and you're sure he understood exactly what you were doing. If he did, he didn't comment on it.

***

You're half asleep when the noise of the radio's static alerts you. You jerk against Pagan's body at the sudden change, surprised. It's cut out from Dancing Queen to a sort of alert noise that's taken the place of ABBA's voices.

Pagan's hand stops it's careful and calculated strokes, and he offers a glare to the radio. "What?" He grumbles, seemingly to the object as though it would answer him back.

As it is, you make no move to get up in order to inspect the radio, but instead watch it with confusion. Perhaps it had somehow switched stations to something else? Maybe it lost signal?

It beeps again and a voice starts speaking, sounding panic when it does so.

"There has been a nuclear attack on United States soil," You hear what sounds like the person shuffling papers.

You move forward, sitting on the edge of the seat now with bated breath. The lazy afternoon turning into the most stress you've had in years.

The voice starts up again after a moment. It doesn't sound any less nervous than it had previously. "It appears to been a direct retaliation from North Korea as a recent change in policy-"

The radio cuts out, and static takes it's place. You stare at it for a moment, your eyes widened with disbelief.

You had known about the rising nuclear threat of the other countries, but you never thought it would come to this. Sure, there would be alerts on the radio occasionally interrupting the stream of music that Pagan had playing, but… they were never like this. Never this severe.

You look at Pagan now, unsure of how to react to news of one of the biggest countries in the world being nuked. Millions other casualties, what with the tech that existed nowadays. There would undoubtedly be retaliation from the United States as well, thereby creating more death. Destruction.

Eventually, Pagan's arm reaches forward and he switches the radio over to the CD that he had in the device, and ABBA once again overtakes the noise of the waves in the background. He was never without his contingencies.

"Well, that's unfortunate." Pagan says, his voice not sounding the least bit sorry or worried. "A real shame." He says, reaching forward as to pick the Vogue magazine he had dropped when you plopped down into his lap.

You reach over to the radio and turn it down, but not off. He would complain if you turned it off entirely.

"Pagan." You say, your voice patient.

Still, he doesn't look up at you, he offers nothing but a simple hum in response, dismissively.

Your eyes narrow at him now, and while you want to take the magazine away and throw as far into the ocean as you can at his blasé attitude to all of this, you restrain yourself to moving a single finger over to his magazine and gently sliding it down, until his eyes meet yours again with a roll that doesn't go missed by you.

He looks entirely unimpressed. "It wasn't my fault, why are you looking at me like that, darling?" Pagan asks, his voice sounding almost annoyed. "I can't control what other countries do, hell, I can't even control what Kyrat does anymore-"

"Pagan," You start, effectively cutting him off, a sigh being unable to hold itself in. "We should still talk about what this means." You say, and after nothing but a raise of his eyebrow in question, you continue. "I mean, they are undoubtedly going to retaliate, and that means that most of the rest of the world is fucked."

Pagan, once again rolls his eyes. You want to hurt him. (Not really, but, still… He's being an asshole.)

His tone is still unworried when he speaks. "It won't reach us here, we're in the middle of nowhere." He assures you, but it's said like someone might talk to a child. As if it's obvious. "And, God-forbid if they drop one close enough for fallout to reach us, we'll simply move to the underground shelter. It has food and water enough for 30 people for another 30 years, the same as the one in Kyrat that Ajay is undoubtedly occupying currently..." He chuckles, and shrugs. "Hell, I believe the one here has it's own set of swimming pools as well, among other things."

He moves a hand to your shoulder and pats it softly. "We'll be fine." And with that, he has the magazine back up. A hand blindly reaches out and the radio is back to the volume it was before.

You believed him when he said you would be fine. The rest of the world might be going to shit, but here, on the island in the middle of nowhere, Pagan's retirement would not be interrupted. He couldn't save the world, society may be collapsing around him, but he could protect what was important to him. His world.

...Pagan never was without his contingencies.

[monsteramongmen-tamer]

#9: “I can’t believe you!” & #30: “So that’s it? It’s over?”  -Finn Balor.

Thanks to the anon who requested this. I know you probably wanted ANGST, but I did it a little different. 

Tagging:  @kaitlynwwefan, @panic-angel3314, @shieldgirl95, @earl-01, @nickie-amore, @blondekel77, @reigns420, @littleprincess1621, @m-a-t-91, @luckygillblog, @finnbalorsbabygirl, @unabashedwwesmut, @blackwidow2721, @wrestlingimaginesposts, @wweburnitdown, @thirstiswet, @princesstoniii, @birthday-prinxess, @princess3733, @princesses-reign-daily, @lip-sync,  @laziestgirlintheworld, @lclb13, @tinyelfperson, @justkelsey15, @mainlywwe-shitposts, @muddin-till-the-end, @lunatictoosweet, @blisssection, @nesha227, @belsoleleann, @bolieve-that, @devitts-girl, @soulofaravenheartofawolf

Warnings: None. You can tell me if I’m wrong. 

A/N: Some fluffy Finn for y’all. If you would like to be added to my tag list, let me know! 

Christmas was a few weeks ago and Finn unfortunately wasn’t able to join you since they had to tape RAW. You were so bummed, but that’s part of the job. You still enjoyed the time with your family and took all of Finn’s gifts home. They were waiting for him under the tree. Along with the things you got him.

He was also gone New Year’s. They had to tape RAW then too. So it wasn’t until after the new year that you were celebrating christmas with your man.

You haven’t been dating too long, only about 6 months, but it was such a ride. Finn was such a fun guy. And a gentleman. Granted, you’ve known him forever, but you never had the nerve to even speak to him until about a year ago. When you came out of your little shell. With the help of some of your friends.

Finn was supposed to be home any minute and you had your place ready. You made a nice meal, tree still up, lights everywhere, as well as candles. You just hope Finn liked it.

You heard a knock at your door and a huge smile crept on your face. You walked over to the door.

“You know you don’t have to knock, right?” You said to Finn, still smiling.

He walked inside and closed the door to keep the cold outside, “I know, but I wanted to surprise ya.”

He put his bags down and you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck. His arms went around your waist.

“I missed you so much.” You said, nuzzling your head into his shoulder.

“I missed ya too. Mmm, what’s that smell?”

“Oh! I made us dinner! As like a ‘Welcome Home’ and ‘Merry Christmas’ and ‘Happy New Year’ kind of thing? Too much?” You asked, nervous that it might be.

Finn just smiled and kissed your temple, “It’s perfect, love.”

That made you feel 75230487x better. You went into the kitchen and got everything ready.

You sat down and had the perfect dinner. Finn told you about his time on the road and you told him about Christmas with your family and what you did on New Year’s. It was nice to just be able to sit there and talk with him. Not having to worry about work. And you were so happy to have him all to yourself.

Once dinner was over, he helped you clean the dishes. Which was nice. Then you moved to the living room to do your favorite part. Open gifts.

“Wow, there’s quite a bit under there.” He said.

You kneeled down and started to pull out some gifts, “Yeah, and they’re all for you.”

Finn looked shocked, “Me? Why me?”

“My family likes to go all out for Christmas. And doesn’t want anyone to feel left out or like they’re less important. So, here you go.” You said, laughing.

Finn sighed, “Okay…”

He got some clothes and legos from my family. Since they know he likes legos. He also got a couple gift cards to some local places in town. One of them being to a local arcade you used to go to as a kid. Finn said he wanted to go there tomorrow. He was so excited.

“Now, here is your gift from me. I hope you like it…” You said, handing Finn a small box.

He looked intrigued.  He slowly opened it and pulled a key out of the box.

“A key? What to?” He asked.

“...this apartment.” You said, slowly.

“Y/N. This is a big thing… Ya didn’t have ta-”

“I wanted to. That way you don’t need to knock when you come over anymore. This can be like your second home.” You said. “Do-do you like it?”

“LIke it? I love it. Tank you.” He said, getting up to kiss you.

You smiled and began to gather all the wrapping paper and Finn stopped you.

“Now don’t tink I forgot about ya.” He said, holding out a box to you.

“Aw, Finn. You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know. I wanted to.”

You sat on the couch and unwrapped it. It was some sort of jewelry. You opened the box and revealed a beautiful four leaf clover necklace surrounded by diamonds and had a small one in the middle.

“Finn, it’s beautiful.” You said, carefully pulling it out of the box and trying to put it on.

“Here, let me.” Finn said, helping you put it on. “Now ya can think of your Irishman when he’s away.”

“I already think of him, but this is a nice touch. Thank you.” You said, standing to kiss your man, yet again.

The rest of the night went smoothly. Finn helped you clean up again and you just spent the rest of the night chilling on the couch then spending more quality time with Finn in the bedroom. *wink*

When the next morning hit, you turned over expecting to lay on your man’s chest, but he wasn’t in the bed. His side was cold.

You heard some shuffling around in the bathroom then Finn popped out.

“Good, yer awake. Get up!” He said.

“Why? What are we doing?” You said, your voice was hoarse since you just woke up.

“I want ta get ta the arcade before all the kids get there!”

“Seriously? You’re up early to go to the arcade?”

“Yes…” Finn said, hesitantly.

You laughed, “Okay, let’s go then, kid. But mom needs her coffee first.”

Finn also laughed, “Yes, mum.”

So, you got up and got ready. More quickly than normal, because Finn was impatient. You knew he liked games, but not this much.

Today will be interesting.

Once you had your coffee in hand, Finn basically rushed you out the door. He was ready to go.

The arcade wasn’t too busy. There were only a few kids here. It wasn’t as popular as it used to be.

Finn went to the front and bought about 100 tickets.

“Oh my god, are you seriously going to use all those?!” You asked.

“Yer gonna play with me.” He said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Oh no, I don’t do games. I suck.”

“That’s okay. Ya don’t need to be good. Just come play with me.” He said.

His face was lit up. You couldn’t believe how happy he was being here. You had to remind yourself to thank your brother for giving him the gift card.

Finn had you bouncing from game to game. It was ridiculous. You weren’t even sure what was going on.

Then, you saw a 2 player game you wanted to try.

“Finn! Let’s do this one over here!” You said.

It was a racing game and you had to sit on these tiny little motorcycle looking things. It looked like fun.  

He put in the tickets and you were focused on the giant screen. You were going to try to beat Finn. If that was possible.

The game started and you were in dead last. You did your best to catch up, making it to second place, behind Finn. As you were about to pass him on the game on a curve, he pushed you to the other way on the bike, causing you to crash and lose the game.

“I can’t believe you! You’re such a cheater!” You yelled at him.

“It looked like ya needed some help out there.” He said, laughing.

“You’re just mad because I almost beat you.” You said, pouting.

You walked away and started playing another game. Finn wasn’t even bothered and continued his own way.

A little bit later on, the two of you met up again, playing games that were right next to each other.

“Wanna play another game together?” He asked you.

“With you? No way. You are a cheater.” You said, playfully pushing his chest.

“No, no. I’ll play nice this time. Promise.”

“Okay fine. What do you want to play?”

“Hmm, skeeball?” He suggested.

You nodded and made your way over there. Finn went into his pocket to grab some tickets.

“Uh oh, I’m all out.”

“So that’s it? It’s over? We can’t play anymore?” You said with a sad look in your eye.

“I mean, I can go buy more tickets…” Finn suggested.

The two of you looked at each other for a second then nodded heads. He excitedly went to get more tickets.

You weren’t expecting to have so much fun at the arcade, but it actually turned into a fun day.

Finn came back with some more tickets, “Okay, this is all I got. We have been here long enough. Let’s do a couple more games and go home.”

You looked at Finn with your eyebrow raised, “Home?”

“Ya, or yer place. My bad.” He said.

“I like that. Home.” You said, smiling. You leaned in and kissed Finn.

He proceeded to put the tickets in and you kicked his butt at skeeball.

Once you ran out of tickets, you grabbed some takeout food and went home.

You were sitting at the table eating with Finn, “You know, I had a lot of fun today.”

“I did too. Thanks for comin’ with me.” He said.

It literally was the perfect day. You spent it all with your man and ended it on the couch snuggled up to the fireplace with a blanket and watched a movie.

There’s nothing more you need out of life right now.  

[neewtmas]

Tagged

I got tagged by the lovely Emma @02273 thank you <3

1. What job would you have if you were in the Glade? Well I can’t run for shit so I would either be track-hoe, med-jack or cook (probably track-hoe tho bc of newt lol)

2. You can choose to save one person from the first book/movie, who would it be? CHUCK forever and always bc he didn’t deserve to die (he deserved nothing of the things that happened to him fuck you WICKED he was a LITTLE KID)

3. Favorite Glader slang? Idk? …maybe shank

4. Would you rather fight one giant griever or 25 puppy-sized grievers? One giant Griever bc you could never ever fight off 25 Grievers all at once even if they are puppy-sized

5. Which Hogwarts house(s) do you think the mighty gladers are in? Newt would be in Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw,  Minho and Thomas are in Gryffindor

6. Glader most likely to win a food eating contest? Chuck? Or maybe one of the runners

7. Favorite ship? What is this question? look at my url (hint: it’s NEWTMAS)

8. You run into James Dashner in public. What do you do? I would tell him how much I love the characters he created, definitely ask for their real names, ask for a photo and to sign something for me, and then I would tell him that killing Newt was the most cruel thing he could have done and I’ll never forgive him for it

9. Glade or the Scorch? The Glade. I can’t cope with heat all that well

10. You’re bitten by a crank, how do you spend your remaining time? Try everything to save Newt, even if it would cost my life bc I would die eventually

11. Would you want your memories back if WICKED offered them to you? I think so

12. If you could listen to one song while hiking across the Scorch, what would it be? I think it would be the soundtrack of Doctor Who or Harry Potter or something

13. Did you forgive Teresa for what she did at the end of the Scorch trials? She was controlled after all… it wasn’t her fault, so yes I would (eventually)

14. Favorite new character in the Scorch trials? ARIS MY BABY

THE DEATH CURE SPOILERS

15. Gally’s back! How did you react? I kind of forgot that he was supposed to appear and just seconds before he took of his mask me and my friend just looked at each other, mouthed ‘It’s Gally’ at the same time and I jumped in my seat with joy

16. What is your most anticipated scene to watch in the Death Cure?  Page 250 I wanted to know so bad how they did it (and they did great)

17. Favorite WICKED character? Ava Paige

18. Thomas tried to request a last meal at WICKED (In the book). What would your request be? Something sweet for sure

19. Who do you think steps up as the leader in Paradise? Thomas. Or Minho. Or both of them together. Or they both just don’t care anymore and let someone else do it bc they did enough to last for the next  10 years

THE DEATH CURE SPOILERS IS OVER

20. If you could visit one set from any of the maze runner films, which one would you choose? The Glade

21. If you could forget the plot and everything about the maze runner so you could experience reading/watching the series for the first time again, would you do it? Nope

22. Would you rather face a griever, cranks, or the bulb-monsters from the end of the scorch trials (books)? A Crank, definitely (honestly a Crank is the easiest just shoot them)

23. Any Glader headcannons? Newt draws. He will always request a little bit of paper from the creators and uses the pencils of the runner to sketch something (fight me on this I love this headcanon)

24. What would you say to Wes Ball if you met him? I would ask about all the special effects and I would thank him for making such amazing movies (and I also would buy him a new hat)

25. Favorite fandom memory? This fandom is full of shitposts and bad memes and I love it

26. Finally, favorite thing about the maze runner? I love everything? Especially Newt (and Newtmas) and I also love the whole story and hwo it all makes sense at the end

i tag: @preciousnewt @shutupminho  and everyone who reads this :)

[appreciatedanhowell]

It's So Meta Even This Acronym

"What, you expect us to say something in summary? You haven't even written the damn story yet," Dan said, scowling. 

"Come on, play along," Phil urged, "There's no reason to get on their bad side." 

"I'm not helping them peddle this stupid thing." 

"I think you just did."

Chapter one

 Word Count: 2.3k 

 Warnings: strong language

 Read on ao3 

Excerpt: Dan poured himself cereal and headed to the lounge, where he flopped onto the couch. He couldn't watch anything new—Phil wasn't up, and probably wouldn't be for a few hours. He settled for an old episode of Steven Universe and started on his cereal. 

 A couple of episodes had played when he realized he was staring at the screen without seeing anything. His bowl was empty, sitting on the coffee table. Again, he shook his head, trying to clear his mind. What had gotten into him? He felt strange the past few days, but it just kept getting worse. Every moment was worse than the last: fuzziness, confusion, disorientation. Maybe he was getting sick. 

Dan sat in his sofa crease, scrolling through tumblr. He had a word document in another window, so he could claim he was writing a script for a video. He scowled as he came across another “rip Dani Snot On Fire” joke. He was really beginning to regret the rebranding. It had seemed so necessary, but it turned out to be so much work. Changing all his social media, changing the links in all his video descriptions, contacting everyone he'd ever done a collab with to ask them to change his information. Maybe he should keep the placentas in the trash but give up on Daniel Howell. It would be months before anyone really knew him as that name…if they ever did. That stupid teenage screen name might stick with him for life, no matter how hard he tried.

He sighed loudly, hoping for sympathy from the man on the other side of the couch. But Phil was absorbed in something on his own laptop and didn't seem to hear. He was still in Star Wars pajamas and Dan had to recheck the time. It was three in the afternoon. They'd been slipping into the habit of slobbing around, sometimes not even changing into real clothes.

Dan realized he'd thought the word “pajamas” instead of “pyjamas”. He shook his head slightly; he'd been spending too much time on the American-dominated internet. He found himself using ‘miles’ and ‘dollars’, too. There was no escaping the Americanisms. Maybe he'd do a video about that. He was certain someone had made a compilation video of every time he used an Imperial measurement or American word. He opened his document of video ideas and jotted it down. He frowned. It was thin, but maybe he could at least shitpost about it.

He stood up and walked to the kitchen, grabbing two glasses of Ribena. He frowned as he walked back to the living room. Wasn't he supposed to be decoupling himself from Ribena? He couldn't—

Wait. He'd said living room. Had he ever said that before in his life? It was the lounge.

He sat the two glasses down on the coffee table. It caught Phil's attention and he mumbled a thanks before grabbing it and drinking. He was actually writing a script for a video. Dan took another drink then stared blankly at his screen.

The day stretched on. Dan started looking for games for their next video. Phil tapped away at his script. There was evening, and there was morning. Tuesday.

Wednesday saw Dan wake up unusually early. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and groaned. Why was he up at—he checked his phone—seven in the morning? There was no reason for this stupid consciousness.

He gave up with a sigh and threw off his greyscale bedcovers. There was no use sitting in bed trying to sleep when he clearly wasn't tired. He shivered as he sat shirtless. It was unseasonably cool for…fall? He frowned. It had taken him several seconds to remember what season it was. What was going on with him lately?

He got dressed—okay, so it was only a t-shirt and sweatpants. But it was better than pajamas. He ran his fingers through his hair and brushed his teeth. Staring into the mirror, he frowned at himself. It had been a weird couple weeks and his face was showing it. Purplish bags sat under his eyes and he looked paler than he should. He splashed water on his face and some color returned to his cheeks. But his complexion was definitely less olive and more pink than usual—he looked like Phil.

Shaking his head, he flipped the light off and shuffled to the kitchen. He poured himself cereal and headed to the lounge, where he flipped on the television. He couldn't watch anything new—Phil wasn't up, and probably wouldn't be for a few hours. He settled for an old episode of Steven Universe and started on his cereal.

A couple of episodes had played when he realized he was staring at the screen without seeing anything. His bowl was empty, sitting on the coffee table. Again, he shook his head, trying to clear his mind. What had gotten into him? He felt strange the past few days, but it just kept getting worse. Every moment was worse than the last: fuzziness, confusion, disorientation. Maybe he was getting sick.

He opened his laptop and pulled up his email, intending to respond to business emails. He had gotten through exactly two when he decided he was fed up with them. There were a few too many pointed “Daniel Howell”s to be entirely professional. Why wouldn't people leave him alone about it?

He logged into his Internet Support Group email for shits and giggles. There were hundreds of thousands of unread messages. But these ones weren't overwhelming. He was under no obligation to answer any of them.

He tried to pick earnest ones to read. The funny ones were best read and reacted to on camera. But he probably wasn't doing another ISG for months anyway, and he liked he use relatively fresh ones when he did, so what did it matter? Whatever. He clicked on another with the subject “Should I go to grad school?”

It explained that this student had just finished her degree and was planning on going to a four-year graduate school. But she was feeling burned out. But there were literally no jobs available in her field with only a bachelor's degree. After a lengthy explanation, she said she had been listening to everyone's advice. Her sister told her to stay in school, but a close friend told her to take a break. And somebody once told me—

Dan broke out laughing. He couldn't stop himself—they'd caught him completely off guard. He wiped the corners of his eyes and starred the email to show Phil.

As if on cue, soft thuds echoed down the hall. Phil was tired, he'd seen that Dan was awake, and so he didn't care that he was all but stomping. He fixed himself a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal and made his way blearily into the lounge.

“Couldn't sleep,” he mumbled by way of explanation. He looked it. His glasses were askew, his hair rumpled, and his mouth set stiffly, as though he'd been grinding his teeth.

“Sorry,” Dan said, moving the television remote to beside Phil's bowl. “Anything you want to watch?”

“This’s fine,” he nodded at the screen and pressed a button to resume the episode that Dan had paused.              

Dan considered showing him the ISG email he'd read, but figured that he'd wait until Phil woke up a little. He wasn't known for his early-morning sense of humor. No, even on the tour, his raven-haired friend—

Dan actually snorted out loud.

“Hmm?” Phil said, not bothering with a full question. Dan shrugged off the feeling of déjà vu.

“Have you ever noticed the fandom leaking into your real life?” Dan asked him. Phil looked blankly at him, so he continued. “Like when you see something on tumblr or read something in fanfiction enough times that you start to incorporate it into the way you think?”

“I don't think so,” Phil said, frowning a little in thought. His voice was still gravelly with sleep. “What happened?”

“I just referred to you as my ‘raven-haired friend’ in my internal monologue,” Dan said, halfway between amused and embarrassed.

“What the heck,” Phil said, laughing. “Stop reading so much fanfic.”

“I know, I know,” Dan said, “Besides, that would require us being friends.” Phil stuck his tongue out at Dan, who just laughed.

“You know, maybe I get it,” Phil said after a moment of thought, “I've seen you portrayed so many times that sometimes I catch myself thinking you're a nice person.”

“What a crock of shit, you never think that.”

“I did once.”

“Psh, when?”

“Do you think I would have wanted to meet you if I knew you were such a dick?” 

Dan reached over and kicked Phil. Not hard enough to hurt, though. Maybe.

The more years that passed, the more they were comfortable teasing each other. They'd grown more secure in their partnership and they'd both become more confident; Dan from 2009 would have been devastated to hear his idol call him a dick.

Then again, Dan thought, 2009 Dan wouldn't have thought his idol would prank him with habanero gummy bears. Or put a banana peel down the back of his shirt on camera. He still hadn't gotten revenge on Phil for that. He'd have to come up with something fittingly awful, but still believable…

Dan spent a few seconds staring at Phil's profile as the latter scrolled away on his laptop. Phil looked tired too. His jaw was still tight. It looked like he'd had several bad nights in a row. Maybe the new house had a gas leak too, Dan thought bitterly. At least it would explain why he felt so strange.

“We should do something,” Dan said suddenly.

“Like what? Why?” Phil asked, surprised, as he looked up from his laptop.

“I don’t know,” Dan admitted, “Something. We’ve been cooped up for too long. It’s weird.”

“We just came back from Vidcon,” Phil reminded him, “Traveling halfway around the world and back isn’t exactly cooped up. And since when do you have a problem staying inside all day?”

“Since the tour,” Dan said, “It’s just one giant letdown since then. Relaxing was good for a while. Now it just feels like nothing.”

“Okay, then, what do you suggest we do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, let me know when you have an idea.”

“Come on, I know you’re just humoring me. Don’t you want to do something? I feel like I’m imploding.”

Phil sighed and closed his laptop. “Honestly, I’m not exactly sure what you’re on about. You’ve been happy to stay put for months now. Did something change?”

“I don’t know,” Dan admitted, rubbing his forehead, “I feel strange. Like something is different or there’s something in the air. I was kind of hoping you’d know what I mean.”

“Tell you what,” Phil said, “I have the next game picked out. We’ll shoot a gaming video then do something. Get out of the house. Whatever you’d like.”

“Can’t we do it now?"

“No. Work comes first.”

Dan groaned. “Yes, Dad.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“I’ll stop when you stop acting like a dad,” Dan said. He pulled himself off the sofa and started to walk to his room.

“I wouldn’t have to act like a dad if you acted like an adult,” Phil said to his back. Dan looked back and stuck his tongue out at Phil. “You’re proving me right!” Phil said, laughing. He, too, had to drag himself up and to his bedroom.

The gaming video went badly. Humorously badly, hopefully. They’d played GeoGuessr and probably offended a wide variety of viewers. They were both well-traveled; who’d have thought they would do so utterly horribly? Dan had bragged about doing geography at A level and then failed spectacularly. But it was a Dan vs Phil and Phil wouldn’t let his win go to waste, so they’d just have to hope that no one was legitimately offended.

Phil turned the camera off and plugged it in to let the footage upload to the computer.

“So, you wanted to go somewhere?” He asked Dan.

“What about the park?” Dan suggested.

“You hate the park,” Phil pointed out, frowning.

“I changed my mind. Just for a bit, okay? Then we’ll order in tonight.”

“Pizza. And you’re paying.”

“Fine,” Dan said, “But we’re leaving right now. So you can’t weasel out of this.” He walked out of the room to put his shoes on.

“What is with you?” Phil asked to his back, shaking his head.

He followed Dan and shoved his shoes on. The younger man waited at the door, bouncing slightly, impatient. When Phil was ready, they stepped out and began the walk. The wind bit at Dan’s face, but he’d left his jacket at home intentionally.

Maybe if he got cold enough, he’d remember how much he hated being outside. He’d want to go back in and hibernate with his laptop. He’d stop being so restless. Or maybe the fresh air would revive him. He wasn’t sure which he wanted more. Anything to stop this bizarre ambiance that apparently only he could feel.

[safyresky]

Identity ask time! 1, 8, 11, 15, 17, 23, 24, 29, 30 :D Sorry it's so much!

Me, staring at the numbers, a large smile spreading on my face: hehehehe NO IT’S PERFECT LIKE YOU

ALSO THIS GOT VERY LONG. SORRY NOT SORRY? I LIKE LEARNING ABOUT MYSELF

1. if someone wanted to really understand you, what would they read, watch, and listen to?

To read, probably my diary tbh. A lot of the books people would have to read to really understand me would be the books that really shaped my writing (basically the answers to number 15). 

To watch: The Santa Clause trilogy, not because they’re my fave movies cause they’re so SILLY but because of the message of family in them. I think that’s why I love the movies so much–in the end when everything works out, and the family they make throughout the trilogy comes together, it just really resonates with me and gives me a measure of tranquility inside. It’s just sO HEART WARMING! Steven Universe, absolutely…Danny Phantom as well because that was my childhood cartoon and I love it and it’s probably where my shitty pun love originated from tbh

To listen to, oh man where to start. MCR probably b/c they are my favourite band of all time. WALK THE MOON’s album Talking Is Hard because I love it, and all the songs are just so fun and bouncy and give me GET SHIT DONE vibes and I feel like, if I was an album, I’d be that one (or Conventional Weapons, by MCR)

8. what musical artists have you most felt connected to over your lifetime?

I couldn’t really tell you if I ever felt a connection with my favourite musical artists, but there were some I loved a LOT that I SUPPOSE you could say made me feel connected. There’s Bowling For Soup, My Chemical Romance, and as of late The Strumbellas and WALK THE MOON (I love them). Grouplove has really resonated lately, too! I love Welcome to Your Life, what a song, such a good.

11.  describe your ideal day.

It’s sunny, but not boiling hot. The lake is nice and calm. This is relevant for later. It starts with a 9am wake-up. I do my washroom things and crawl back into bed to get cuddles from the fluffy one for a good long cuddle. Then I would get up, have pancakes that are SUPER FLUFFY for breaki while sitting on my back porch enjoying the sun. 

I’d go for a nice long walk by the lake, and just sit there and watch the water for a time. Then for lunch, I would eat some form of chicken in sauce, yum! I would spend the afternoon somewhere picturesque, writing, and then head home and make mashed potatoes and porkchops for dinner! 

Then I’d watch the sunset with Richard, and then I would set up a projector in the back yard, invite all of my friends over no matter where they were, and end the day watching an animated film that makes me warm on the inside (there’s many and I can’t pick one). I’d go to bed stress free and smiling.

15. five most influential books over your lifetime

1. Poison Study by Maria V. Snyder. The whole trilogy really shaped my views on fantasy and helped me figure out a lot of my own fantasy stuff! Such a good series they are my favourite books of ALL TIME2. The World of Hetar. It is a series. And, full disclosure, a fantasy erotica series. But the plot was SO GOOD. The world was built so well and the lore was splendid and It was a really great series that helped me shape my own fantasy world and thoughts on magic in fantasy lands!3. The Emperor’s New Clothes. It was the first book I ever read, like ever. And so it’s got a special place in my heart!4. The Cedar Cove series by Debbie Macomber. It’s a series of just normal people, living normal lives and being hit with problems that just y’’know, happen. They’re very romance but the characters are all so wonderful and I love the way she tells the stories of each character in Cedar Cove. It really helped me shape Swan Valley and Claire Bear and co.5. Twenty Wishes by Debbie Macomber. It…wow, it gave me a lot of feelings and I loved it so much and it was such a good book in my opinion. I REALLY LIKE HOW DEBBIE MACOMBER BRINGS HER CHARACTERS TOGETHER OKAY IT WORKS VERY WELL

I know like 3/5 of these are series but it’s the books as a whole that made me who I am today! They helped me shape my own writing and showed me how you can make a family anywhere, really. Idk I’m a v family person b/c my family was gr8 but then there was this HUGE FIGHT and now I wish that things were Easy again and as fun as they were without back-talking other fam members or fighting or dissatisfaction or not being able to see specific family members because of what your other family members think I just don’t like it and call me nostalgic, but I always wish for those days of big family get togethers back and is the reason why those books shaped me and helped me realize that hey, I can make my own family with my friends and cousins, I don’t actually need to unconditionally love my own family members. Like these books (yes even the fantasy erotica ones) all have groups of people that come together and make a rad family dynamic and that resonates so deeply with me for…so many reasons.

Heh, this got rambly and outta hand (also please read Poison Study it has Mature Themes and illusions to sexual abuse but FUCK Yelena is BADASS and they’re just. such. good BOOKS)

17. would you say your tumblr is a fair representation of the “real you”?

tumblr is a trash site but it’s where I can find things I like and yell about them, so yes, I think my tumblr represents me well enough. It’s a good mix of cartoons, shows, movies, shitposting and asthetic that I think represents me really well.

23. how often would you want to see your family every year?

If I could see them only for major holidays, I’d be happy with that. I’d want to see my sister more though and my relatives downtown more. It’s…a hard question to answer b/c it depends on the family member but honestly, like once every three months for a long stay would make me happy enough so they don;t over stress me and put me down and so I can live my life and not worry about how shitty my parents and brother can be.

24. have you ever felt like you had a “mind-meld” with someone?

Full disclosure, I had to google this. Fun fact: there is a horse named Mini Meld, he sounds lovely. Anywho, after reading the proper definition of meld, I think one of the first times a mini-meld happened was when I was in Grade 6. STORY TIME!

There was this girl we didn’t like b/c she was v annoying and bragged a lot and lied a lot in order to out-brag people (have you ever met one of those people? They just have to constantly be better than you, you know? One of those people. I think she just wanted to be liked but A) I’m not gonna attempt to figure her out this many years later and B) It was hard to like her…like, really hard. I tried and tried but I COULD NOT not even in High School). Me, her, my current bast frand and this other girl use to work in a group together all the time. I wasn’t fond of my current bast frand at the time because I was a shitty child but one day, one day a horrible thing happened: we had to work in groups of 2. So the four of us sat down and were like, okay, so how do we want to do this. And I very loudly said I’LL WORK WITH BAST FRAND which startled everyone INCLUDING HER because again, I was a shitty child.

So we get into the groups of two, and bast frand and I try to ignore the third girl who as stuck working with braggy, as she gave us wistful looks of PLEASE HELP ME that we dutifully tried to ignore. I can’t remember how we got on the subject but, I looked at her at one point and said “Man I really did not want to work with May” and she said “I KNOW, RIGHT?” and we melded and thus a friendship was born. 

The other time would be w/ you in first year when we both started singing and then insta-friendship *finger guns*

29. three songs that you connect with right now.

We Don’s Know - The StrumbellasRiver - Bishop BriggsPortugal - WALK THE MOON

30. pick one of your favourite quotes.

A cheesy, but a goody: “Shoot for the Moon. even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars”. everyone makes fun of it but I like it a lot. It reminds me that even if I miss my mark, I’ll do something else that may even be better, who knows.

Alternatively: “Working hard is important, but feeling good is important, too” (Steven Universe)

And then my High School yearbook quote, courtesy of King Bumi: “Instead of seeing what they want you to see, you gotta open your brains to the possibilities!” A mad genius indeed.

[champhangman]

Monumental Gravity - Part 4

Characters: Corey Graves X OFC

Summary: I’d pick your thunder – I’d pick your rain – over anyone’s sunshine any day.

Catch Up: Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Word Count: 2920

Tagging:  @llowkeys | @the-geekgoddes | @horcruxhunter5972 | @zombiexbody | @imtoldimbabe | @vebner37 |  @nickysmum1909 | @taryndibiase | @justtrey19 | @alexahood21 | @lunaticqueen7 | @thephenomenonalkingofthebrogues | @styl3sl0v3r | @kingslayers-angel | @womderland-fandom | @blondekel77 |  @lonewolfgirl17 | @florenceivy | @meghanannexx | @skrillexslays13 | @geekoftv | @athoughtfulmindwrites | @deanammbrose | @not-that-kinda-gurl08 | @lunaticfringe216 | @13reasonswhyiblog | @itsclaaree | @mainlywwe-shitposts | @fluffyzombiemia@spine-buster | @idle-vanity | @ladylokid | @wwewomendaily | @xfirespritex | @secretagentfangirl | @southerndreamz | @bigpixiefoot | @kakakatey | @luckygillblog | @ wweburnitdown

Bette watched the vibrant leaves swirl and dance across the back lawn. She took a sip of her coffee, grateful she'd made it home before the weather turned. Gaze moving to the sky, she shivered at the sight of the trees bending with the wind and sighed just as the first drops of rain began to fall. As much as she loved autumn, she had hoped for a sunny day.

Turning from the sliding glass door, she finished her coffee and set the cup on the counter. The small house was silent. Clark and Julia were still with their grandfather, though he had promised to have them home in time for lunch. After giving the soup she was cooking a stir, she put the lid on the pot and lowered the heat. She glanced at the bowl of dough she'd left to rise. It wasn't ready to knead and form into the rolls she planned to bake. Sighing, she wandered out of the kitchen.

There was, she realized after making two trips through the house, nothing to do to keep her busy. The laundry hampers were empty. The beds were made. The dishwasher had been emptied. No toys littered the living room floor. The kids' rooms were neat, or as neat as kids' rooms could be. She had already swept the kitchen floor. And the rule of cooking her mother had instilled in her – clean up as you go – was always followed, leaving her without so much as a measuring cup to wash. She was sure that if she truly hunted she would find something to do. Something to occupy her mind. The shelves in her craft room could use organizing. There was a thick stack of coloring pages, school assignments, and other papers that had made their way from the kids' backpacks and onto the counter. And she had been meaning to weed out some old books from Julia's bookshelf to donate to Goodwill…

With a sigh, she fixed another cup of coffee, gaze sliding to her phone. It had been pretty quiet since she'd gotten home, save the texts exchanged with her father. She had opted against posting the pictures and video from the night before on social media, knowing there would be many questioning how she had gotten access into the arena before the show started. So there were no notifications from Twitter or Instagram or even Facebook to read. As she looked at it, though, it vibrated, screen lighting up for half a second before going dark again. She picked it up and unlocked it, stomach doing a funny twist when she saw Corey had sent her a message through Twitter.

It wasn't the first she'd received since parting ways that morning. Before the taxi had pulled away from the hotel he'd messaged that she'd forgotten something. Panicked, she had told the driver to stop, only to weakly tell him to go ahead when the next message had come. She had forgotten to give him her phone number. She hadn't responded, even though she knew full well that he knew she'd read the message. When she had been within a mile of home he'd messaged again to tell her he was about to board his flight, and that he hoped she'd let him know she got home without any problem.

She hadn't.

She hadn't purposely ignored him. There had been a flurry of activity when she got home. Paying the taxi driver and tipping him handsomely. Calling her dad to let him know she was back. Taking off the clothes that smelled of Corey and taking a shower to wash away the perspiration of that last-minute, frenzied sex on the edge of the dresser before she'd left. Then she had rushed to get the pot of soup started, and the dough, and now…

Just landed. You okay? The taxi driver wasn't a murderer, was he?

Okay, bad joke. Please let me know you got home safely.

Moistening her lips, she wondered how to reply. Should she apologize for not messaging him sooner? Give excuses? Lie and say it had slipped her mind? With a groan, she decided to go for full honesty.

Sorry, got busy as soon as I walked in the door. He wasn't a murderer, lol. I made it home in one piece.

She hesitated after sending that, then began a new message.

Did you have a good flight?

He would answer, then she could send a smiley face, and that would probably be the end of it. She didn't kid herself that last night had meant anything to him but sex. It hadn't been the start of some grand romance. They had shared passion all night long, but for those cozy hours cuddled close, and that was all it would ever be. It was what she had expected, after all. Even if he was the first man since Bradley she had felt desire for.

Bradley. Her phone slid to the counter with a clatter. She heard the rain pick up outside, heard the wind rattle the windows. What would he think of her throwing caution aside and spending the night with a man she'd just met? She supposed that if he were alive he wouldn't like it too much. But he was gone. She held her breath, waiting for the pain, exhaled slowly as she realized it wasn't as bad as it had been before.

He was gone.

Aware of her phone vibrating, she pushed away from the counter and returned to the soup. She heard the buzzing again as she kneaded the dough and again while she put the rolls in the oven to bake.

He'd been her true love. High school sweethearts, they'd been together since their sophomore year. They'd lost their virginities to each other on their prom night, had exchanged promise rings the night before graduation. She had never doubted that they would spend the rest of their lives together. Had never looked at anyone else with anything akin to attraction. Even after his unexpected death.

That was, until Corey Graves had sauntered into her life.

She huffed with annoyance. Damn the man for being so charming. For reeling her in with his inked arms and warm smile. For surprising her kids to the point her heart had turned to mush.

She refused to think about how he'd cuddled her close during the night. His gentle voice, thick with sleepiness, telling her tales and warming her. She refused to think how he'd made her feel beautiful. How the night had, inexplicably, been filled with the best sex she'd ever had.

Or how her body now had delicious aches. Or the fact that if she tilted her head just right she could still smell him and feel his lips on her skin.

"Honestly, fuck him," she muttered.

And now he was messaging her constantly. Did he think it had been something more than a one-night stand? Did he think that just because he'd made her orgasm – harder than she'd ever orgasmed – that she was now at his beck and call?

So the man had a nice dick and knew how to use it? Did he think that gave him the right to expect more from her?

Annoyed now, she snatched up her phone when it vibrated again. She barely scanned the messages he'd sent, noting only that his flight had been uneventful. Already tapping out a curt message that the night had been great, hoping he would sense the undertone that she was done with him now, her gaze landed on the last message he'd sent.

Last night was amazing. I'm not just throwing out lines when I say I never do that, because I don't. Not since I was in the indies. But there was something about you that pulled me in and I couldn't have resisted if I'd tried.

"Oh," she breathed, clearing the strong message she'd composed.

She read the message again. Feeling all her indignant anger rush out of her like air out of a deflating balloon, she sighed.

"Goddamnit, Corey," she muttered. And, before she could stop herself, she typed out those words and hit send. She groaned as the words appeared on the screen in bright, indelible blue.

Goddamnit, Corey.

***

"Stop," Corey commanded as he felt his phone vibrate. Making sure his two dogs had listened, he moved to sit on a nearby bench. He whistled to Bull and Dharma, who followed eagerly, and retrieved his phone before settling back. Dharma obviously sensed he was going to be a while because she sat at his feet, whereas Bull remained alert. Corey reached to rub the dog's head. "It's okay boy, you can relax."

Bull's mouth opened, tongue lolling, as he plopped down next to Dharma.

Corey unlocked his phone. Ignoring the email notification and the messages from Tom, he pulled up Twitter. He barely glanced at his feed before opening his messages, smiling when he saw that Bette had finally replied to him. But when he opened the thread and saw the two words at the bottom of the screen, his smile faded and turned into a frown.

Goddamnit, Corey.

"What the fuck," he muttered. He scrolled back through the messages he'd sent, looking for something that could have possibly upset her. Confused when he found none, he went back down to the volatile words and looked to Bull. "What does that even mean?"

Bull stared blankly at him, panting softly. He whimpered, lifted a paw to his face, and shook his head.

"Well… What do you think, Dharma?" Corey asked, turning to his other dog.

Dharma barely glanced up from the leaf she was poking with her front paw. She cocked her head, flicked one ear, and yawned.

Corey sighed and dragged a hand over his face. "Any ideas, Bull?"

The pitbull perked up, stocky body wriggling. A look of puzzlement briefly crossed his face an instant before he sneezed violently.

"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking too," Corey murmured, idly rubbing the dog's head. Still confused, he closed Twitter and called the one person he knew he could rely on to offer insight.

"Hello," Baron greeted a moment later.

"Dude, I need you to interpret a message. Just…help me on this, please," Corey requested without preamble. "Dharma and Bull gave me nothing. They're pretty silent on the subject. I don't know why. They're usually very chatty when it comes to—"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Baron groaned.

Corey drew in a deep breath, organizing his thoughts as he did so. "Okay. I've been messaging Bette all morning—"

"Bette? The chick from yesterday?"

"Yeah. Anyway—"

"Why were you messaging her?"

Corey scowled, wondering why that was important. But of course, he told Baron everything so he had no trouble explaining further. "She stayed the night at the hotel. So—"

"Really? What did she do with her kids?" Baron asked.

Despite the miles that separated them, Corey could see his friend's smirk. "Her dad was at the show, he took her kids home for her. Can I finish now?"

"What's stopping you?"

"Asshole," Corey muttered. "Anyway, I've been messaging her. I wanted to make sure she got home okay, and I kind of got verbal diarrhea and told her how amazing the night was and all. And a few minutes ago she finally replied but it was just 'Goddamnit Corey' and I don't know what she means by that. What do you think?"

The silence from the other end lasted for so long that Corey pulled his phone from his ear to check that the call hadn't ended. Then, suddenly, came a burst of laughter from Baron. "You fucking idiot."

He scowled again, deep enough to have Bull pawing at his leg. When the dog whined he murmured softly, continuing to rub at the thick head. "You are literally no help, man…"

The laughter subsided. "Wait, wait, hold on…" Muffled snorts, followed by even more laughter.

"Okay, bye," Corey decided.

"No, hold on! I'm serious!" Baron choked out, then began to cackle.

"Goddamnit, Baron," he muttered, ending the call with a grunt.

He had just rested his phone on his thigh when it began to vibrate wildly with an incoming call. Seeing Baron's name, he almost didn't answer. But, sighing, he accepted the call and lifted the phone to his ear. "I hate you."

"Hello to you too, asshole."

"If you called to laugh some more, I fucking swear…"

"The fuck did I even do to you?"

"That's exactly what I'm asking about Bette!" Corey winced at the outburst, and pushed to his feet before others in the park decided to call the authorities for the weird man with two dogs. Dharma and Bull stood as well, tails wagging hopefully, and stuck close to his sides as he headed down the paved walk.

"Well?" Baron asked. "What did you to do her?"

"We had sex," he answered blatantly. No need to dance around the topic. "A few times, to be exact. She stayed all night."

"And?"

"And then I sent her a DM asking that she let me know she got home okay. She did, then I told her it was a great night."

Baron snorted. "You asshole. How dare you tell her that?"

"What the fuck else am I supposed to tell her?" Corey demanded.

There was a slight hesitation from the other man. Then, his voice softened, Baron spoke again. "This woman really threw you for a loop, didn't she?"

All his irritation left with a sigh. He leaned to clip the leashes to the dogs' collars, thinking on Baron's question. She had thrown him for a loop. When she had agreed to meet for drinks his only plan had been to get to know her a little better. Then had come her whispered request for a kiss. The sex, which he hadn't expected, had easily been the best he'd ever had. But what had stuck with him since parting ways that morning had been those hours in the middle of the night. With her tucked close, her breath a caress on his chest. Her soft, smoky voice telling him about her job and her kids and her dad.

"Guess that answers my question," Baron observed. "You know, you should ask her why she said that. I don't know her mind."

"That would be easier to do if I had her number," Corey muttered. Leading the dogs to the parking lot, he opened the back door of his car and unclipped the leashes so they could hop in. By the time he moved to open the driver's door and get behind the wheel, Bull had climbed over and waited, grinning, in the passenger seat.

"Wait, you don't have her number?" Baron began to laugh again. "You're still messaging her through Twitter? Christ, man, I thought you were smooth?"

"We were in a hurry," he defended, tossing the leashes onto the floorboard and starting the car. "I had to make my flight, she had to get home… Getting her number was the last thing on my mind at the time."

"Fuck," his friend muttered. "Either her pussy is amazing or she can suck start a fucking Harley."

"Don't be vulgar." Corey reached back to rub Dharma's head when her snout nudged his shoulder. After giving Bull an equal amount of attention, he leaned his head back against the headrest. "But yes to both."

"What's her Twitter name?" Baron asked suddenly.

"It's—Why?"

"I just want to check something."

"What are you gonna do?" he asked warily.

"I'm not gonna message her, asshole. Do you follow her?"

"Yeah…" Corey groaned when Baron rattled off her username. "That's her."

"She works at a grocery store?" Baron inquired after a moment's silence.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Reading her tweets. And fuck, her brownies look amazing."

"Clark told me they're the best in the world."

"You know, you could just show up at her workplace and ask her out. She liked a couple tweets about a fair that starts this weekend."

Corey blinked in surprise as Baron told him about the Harvest Fair that would begin Saturday with a parade. Carnival rides and games, craft booths, a tractor show, nightly bingo, a petting zoo, and more would be available throughout the next week, culminating in a dance and fireworks show. It sounded so innocent, so down-home and neighborly, that he wished he could attend. He wondered if there would be a pie-eating contest. "You're saying I should just show up and let her think I'm some stalker?"

"If the sex was that good, she won't think that," Baron promised with a chuckle.

He had a feeling that Baron was just joking with him. But the idea, once in his brain, had its possibilities. Her town was somewhat near where Raw would be the next Monday. He had a habit of flying out on the weekend so he could explore a little before having to report to work. Rubbing his chin, he decided to ruminate on it further. But what would he do in the meantime? Ignore her last message? Outright ask what she meant? Women, he thought with a grunt, finally putting the car in gear and reaching for his seatbelt.

"So I guess it's safe to say she wasn't some serial killer?"

Chuckling, Corey began to drive out of the parking lot. "Far from it. She's a hardworking single mom."

Baron snorted. "And she hooked up with you?"